Le muguet

When I was at Elmwood, the wild lily-of-the-valley was blooming. Everywhere, in every small nook of every inch of the forest floor. They've become a springtime favorite at work, so it was extra nice to see them in their natural state, free for the smelling. If you've never smelled lily-of-the-valley, for my sake please add it to your list of things to do before you die. The smell is a wonderful combination of earthy and sweet, I could just eat them up.

I carried a few stems with me at all times and kept robotically lifting them to my nose to smell. In the canoe, in the car, by my bed, out to breakfast. I am happy to report that it's not possible to OD on flower smell. For the sake of humanity and to cover the lingering smell of burnt wallpaper, I tried.

An addendum to my last post.

1. Despite my jokey jokeyness, the fire was very scary. Sometimes you write something funny as a coping mechanism. Cause dudes, it didn't feel that funny at the time.

2. Also- just for the record I was wearing jammies. What kind of girl do you think I am?!!

The first night I got to Elmwood, it was dark and gloomy as can be. I walked around capturing it's haunted houseness, something that I rarely get to see as I'm normally there in july when it's hot and full of Merricks.

Everything looked borderline scary and I think I was a bit relieved when night actually fell so I could curl myself in front of the fireplace. The same fireplace that's no longer deemed safe by the fire department to burn fires. Elmwood without a fireplace is just too sad to even comprehend. Sniff.

Just another glimpse into peaceful New Hampshire life.

When it is 29 degrees at night in May and you are on "vacation" alone in a big old house with no "heat", every moment possible is spent plastered to the fireplace. Sleeping happens on the sofa by the fire, in a death trap mummy bag/camp blanket combo. Which is fine because you are a big girl now and can make fires in your sleep.

Plus you haven't been afraid of being alone in a big, huge, freezing, creaky, ancient house since you were like 24, which seems like sooo long ago now that you're 25.

As you drift off to frozen sleep, you congratulate yourself at being so excellent at "vacationing". You are a pro at relaxing, even in sub-zero temperatures. You should do this all the time.

Then a loud explosion jolts you from the sofa. You vainly attempt to paw your way out from under 1,000 wool blankets and a sleeping bag. Umm.... There are 4' tall flames winding their way up the wall surrounding fireplace. Cue gut wrenching primal death scream.

You fumble with the zipper of your mummy bag. It's stuck. The next 5 minutes are the most terrified minutes of your life thus far as you tear through a pitch black house, looking for something to dump on the fire.

In the end you dump vases of flowers (ever the florist) on the wall and call 911 as the house continues to fill with smoke. 8 trucks arrive, which strikes even you as excessive as you huddle in the front yard wearing a down parka and not much else.

Good news, your repeated dumpings of vase water managed to put out the most of the uncontained fire and the house has very minimal damage. Bad news, there are now 40 New Hampshire firemen looking at you in your, ahem, parka.

Relief sinks in, as does shame and the fact that it is 29 degrees outside and you are technically not wearing actual clothes. You skulk towards the car to better document this shame on camera, which, unlike pants, you didn't forget to grab as you left the burning house.

Yes, you think to yourself as you snap away photos for the blog, you are great at vacationing. You should do this all the time.

The vacation

I'm back from my 5 day vacation and I've sustained my first minor sunburn (cheeks and nose) of this year. I'm beyond exhausted and feel a little shaky with weird post vacation anxiety. Do you ever come home from vacation and feel like you now need a vacation from your vacation? That's me.

It wasn't all bad though. Actually, 95% was really wonderful. I went to elmwood by myself for the first time. I also read my life in france, bought a silly pair of yellow 1940s floral shorts, napped in the (albeit cold) sun, canoed alone, hiked alone, braved a unheated new hampshire house alone, wore a hole in my favorite boots, petted brimfield doggies, met some sweet new people and ate a great pulled pork sandwich.

The bad part really wasn't so bad (it could have much worse) but it sort of cast my whole trip in a surreal, bizarre, stressful light. But I'm happily home now, in my bed with one of my mean kitties acting almost sweet to me. I haven't offloaded my photos from the trip, so all I have for you are old holga photos from a warmer, happier, more sistery elmwood vacation last summer.

My mom never ceases to amaze.

I wish I could be there with a big box of vita coco and a plate of healthnut toast. (Instead I'm racing off to Elmwood for the weekend before Brimfield.) Worst daughter of the year award, right here.

Ode to Patrick

They say that when one experiences acute withdrawal symptoms, the body goes through several worsening stages of physical and emotional distress, only to hit a plateau of hell at the bottom. Then, slowly, your symptoms begin to dissipate as your body acclimates to it's new equilibrium. Only when you reach that equilibrium can true personal growth begin.

But then the Time-Warner cable guy comes and reconnects you to the internet after a week of cyber solitary confinement and all of a sudden, thoughts of personal growth are pushed to the back burner as you spend a consecutive 5 hours looking at cute terrier mutts on petfinder.

So yeah. I have the internets again. It's good to be home.


This is Patrick, my cable guy. He walked into my apartment and looked at my internet situation and said "I see you're interested in the whole antiques thing. Is that why you have an antique modem?". It was kind of amazing.


He wants to start a cable guy blog about the crazy houses/people he sees day to day. He showed me some photos on his phone of potential subjects. Some had floor to ceiling Star Wars figurines. One had a 5' tall head of Michael Jordan. Crazy appliance hoarders abound. He took a few pictures in my place (do I fall into the hoarder category?!?) and in return I snapped a picture of him for you to appreciate. Thank you Patrick for saving my internet, you were a riot.

Now that I'm back I promise to continue infrequently and erratically posting to this blog about topics of nonimportance to all.

Peach is my new favorite color.

I haven't had internet in my house for 7 days. I'm waiting on tenterhooks till my Tuesday appointment when I'll find out when I can resume my usual ebay/twitter/flickr cycle. Until then I'll keep falling asleep before 10.

Sarah and I just got back from doing a wedding at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and for the first time in a week, I have a few spare moments to internet veg at work. Meaning all I have to show you are some old flower photos of an arrangement I did last month. Let me tell you, garden roses and ranunculus hide a multitude of sins.

When my internet finally gets fixed , I have lots of things to tell you about. Some exciting. Some sad. Some bewildering. Some involve face to face contact with Hanson. Yes. That Hanson. I can't even make this stuff up.